January Snow
by MaybeThere'sHope
Summary: OS. Intended as an extension of the books. Revolves around my two favorite characters. Completely canon  I know you're shocked I didn't change anything . This is how I think the future would play out. Malec. T because I'm paranoid of one small part.


**Hi all! So here's a present, of sorts, for my Misery Loves Glamour update coming so late tonight. Also, if you haven't read the A/Ns for that yet, I'll be updating Mind and Heart tomorrow.**

**So, this is wildly different from those stories, I think. Partly because it's COMPLETELY CANON. It is meant as an extension (albeit, in the future) of the books (haha for once I didn't change anything!). This is how I see it, anyway. I made a few challenges for myself with it, and I think it came out pretty good, considering I NEVER write in present tense. **

***Special Special Special thanks to those who provided a little pre-feedback on this for me: jensonluvsu, READINGisLIFE, and forever mah homegirl, leM0NSTER, who gives me honest feedback and tells me like it is. Big ups girl, and can't wait to meet you at Lucky 13! (haha yall don't know! mwahaha!)**

The January snow from last night is still fluffy, and it gives way under his feet like smooth butter. It's littered everything from the streets to the sidewalks to the benches, each devoid of their usual inhabitants, who are presumably cowering inside from the chill.

He walks alone down the narrow way, towards Manhattan. His eyes fall loosely, carelessly, on the setting around him. Brooklyn hasn't changed much over the years since he'd set up shop there somewhere in the late 1940s. Sure, the factories and shops had been converted to lofts and brownstones, but the bones were still there. It had gone through a hundred facelifts, while still retaining its charm. He's only slightly dismayed to watch it disappear behind him as his long legs propel him forward of their own accord.

That seems to be the case with most things these days: he never really consciously decides to do anything. His body goes through the motions on its own; his mind is way too preoccupied with _him_ to think about much else, and it's been that way for a long while now. He sighs as the white powder works its way onto the top of his shoes as he walks, seeming to want to bury him alive, itching for the chance.

He turns a corner and makes his way further north. As he walks, he goes through the familiar routine of calling up the most beautiful image his mind can conjure. Right on cue, bright, glassy, oceanic blue eyes fill his mind's canvas. He can't help the smile that spreads across his face, despite the chill in the air that seems to penetrate to his very core. He never could help his reaction to those eyes, from the second he first encountered them.

They are the most expressive eyes he'd ever had occasion to gaze on in his many centuries of life. They could convey any number of emotions: excitement, fear, anger, hatred, pride, anticipation, passion, love. There are literally millions of phrases that could be inspired by just one look from those eyes. However, usually there were no words needed between the two of them; they could convey their deepest needs and desires without ever having to utter a word. This is what he likes best about their relationship, especially now.

He just can't wait to see those eyes again. He's making his way to see him now, the way he's done every single day for more years than he can count. But today is different. Today is the day he will give everything. It's the last frontier, the last step in sealing them together forever, in a way that no one will ever hinder.

He thinks back on some of their times together, flipping through mental movies of their best moments, which constitute most of his memories.

_"This is incredible, Magnus. You did this?"_

_"Of course, sugar. All for you," Magnus answered. _

_"And no magic whatsoever was involved?" he asked with a suspicious glint in his gorgeous eyes. How could an 18 year old look so wise beyond his years? Hell, how could an 18 year old see right through to his core, when he had about eight centuries on him in the first place? Magnus chose not to question it._

_"None at all. I can do things for myself, you know. I'm not an invalid," Magnus teased. The boy smiled that drop-me-to-my-knees smile, the one where only his left dimple appeared, and his eyes seemed to twinkle. They showed appreciation mixed with love: exactly what Magnus was going for._

That was their 6 month anniversary, and he had made a huge dinner with all the trimmings, making it seem more like Christmas dinner than a quiet evening at home for the two of them. They'd finished it off after four straight days of ham and green bean casserole, but they'd enjoyed it. He flipped through a couple of years further.

_"I don't know, Magnus. That seems awfully extravagant."_

_"Honey, you...you _do_ know who you're talking to, right?" Magnus asked with an incredulous look. _

_He sighed. Even his annoyed sigh was music to Magnus' ears. "I guess it suits you. But do you really expect me to match? I mean, I'm okay with you being the star here," he said, a little nervousness creeping into his voice. It was so adorable._

_"Of course it suits me. There's not an inch of fabric that doesn't just scream out my name. They won't even need the disco ball!" Magnus chirped delightedly as he checked himself out in the mirror. "As for you, the answer is yes. We have to match! It's like, a rule."_

_"Says who?"_

_"The High Warlock of Brooklyn."_

_"That's you."_

_"Yes, I know. And I'm important. I've got that important title and everything."_

_"But Magnus..."_

_"No buts. You're wearing this, sweetcheeks. Come on, try it on. Just for me? Please?" He flashed his most preciously pleading expression, and watched with internal glee as the boy's face softened. He knew he couldn't say no to that expression. He walked over and grabbed the jacket out of Magnus' hand._

He'd actually sort of liked it, as the night wore on. Except that people kept getting the two of them mixed up. He didn't see how, seeing as there was about 8 inches of difference in height between the two of them. He chuckles despite himself, kicking a small mound of snow to the side as he comes nearer to his destination with every step. A weirdly tinged excitement seems to shiver through him. He is finally taking the next step.

He conjures up the next scene, and his heart nearly stops, as it always does when he thinks of that night.

_"I've never been more sure," he said. His voice was shaky, telling Magnus that he wasn't as fearless as he tried to put on._

_"Well, we'll take it slow. You are the most precious thing in my life, and I don't intend to hurt you, ever." Magnus was shocked at the gravity of his words. He meant forever. _

_"I love you, Magnus."_

_"I love you, too. Always." He leaned down and kissed soft, pliant lips. His tongue lightly traced the seam between them, eliciting a soft moan and allowing him access. He gently settled himself between the boy's thighs and ran a hand up the side of his torso, watching with barely contained desire as the boy's whole body shivered._

_When they finally connected, Magnus' breath caught as he saw those sweet blue eyes gloss over with wetness. He reached a hand up and brushed a stray tear away with the pad of his thumb, willing himself to be slower, gentler. Letting his lover's body adjust to the invasion, he kept so still that he almost stopped breathing. When he felt an anxious squeeze on his hip, pulling him closer, he knew it was okay to continue._

And continue, they did, until the sky bled to a pale pink with the coming light of day. He'd never been so exhausted and so sated in his entire life. He thinks back now to all the nights after that, that they repeated those actions over and over until they had an unspoken rhythm that consumed them both. The heat from the long ago moment is enough to chase the chill away from his body almost entirely.

He continues his journey toward Manhattan, seeing the sleek skyscrapers jutting higher than ever before. He marvels at the insatiable human drive to reach the stars. He supposes he's no different. He intends to let his spirit ascend into that great light above.

As he walks, he lets his mind call up less pleasant memories. These are tinged with sadness and anger, but they are nonetheless moments that he happily shared, rather than spend them alone.

_"I still miss him," he said with unbidden tears rolling down his cheeks as Magnus held him tightly. "He'd be 22 today. I couldn't even look my mother in the eye. I just had to get out of there," he sobbed. Magnus knew he felt horrible for leaving his parents alone on today of all days, but each member of the family always dealt with this day in their own way. Jace went out in search of something to slaughter in anger, Isabelle locked herself in her room, and he ran to Magnus' arms. It was a routine, but it didn't get any easier with the passing years. _

_"I know, baby. But he's up there somewhere. And he wants you to know that he loves you and he wants you to be happy."_

That day had been spent in fits of sobbing and sleeping on the couch. He'd bring him some soup, only to be waved away. Then a second later, he'd be begging to be held. And he had put up with all of it, because he loved him.

The wide streets of Manhattan loom before him. He keeps strolling, aching to be by his side again. It's always been this way; as soon as they're apart, he's waiting for the moment they'll be reunited again. There hasn't been a day in the last countless number of years that they hadn't been together for at least some period of time, even if it was only to exchange a one-sided I love you.

He has time for one more memory before he reaches the gates of his destination, and his beloved's company once again. Despite his best efforts, a depressing scene creeps into his mind. It's a scene that was played over and over in the most recent years of their relationship, but each repetition never really made it any easier.

_"I'm so tired of it!" he yelled, throwing his hands up in the air. "I'm so damn sick of it all! All the glances and raised eyebrows and sneers! I can't handle it, Magnus!" He was starting to pant with the exertion, which Magnus knew wasn't good for his heart._

_"That sort of comes with the territory," he said quietly. "You knew it would be like this when we got together. You knew walking down the street together would turn a few heads. What's different between us now than when you told me you'd love me forever? When we said 'I do'? _

_"I am, Magnus! _I'm_ different!" he cried. _

_"What does that matter?" Magnus pleaded. He desperately wished he would calm down. He thought about getting up off the couch and walking over and taking him in his arms and rubbing slow circles on his back like he used to do when their love was young. But he stayed put, knowing his husband would just bat him away. He knew what it was like when he got like this. They'd had this heated "discussion" many times now, more in recent years._

_"It matters to me," was all he said._

_"Why should you care what people think?" Magnus blurted. He couldn't help remembering his future husband's bravery that day, so many years ago, in front of the Clave and three quarters of Downworld. He'd kissed him in front of God and everybody, and hadn't given a damn about it._

_"That's so easy for you to say, Magnus! Look at you!" But Magnus was looking at him, his heart clenching when his gaze caught the silver shot through at the temples of the once glossy black curls, the lines around his precious blue orbs. He always knew it, even when they'd first asserted their feelings. He knew he was running out of time, but he just didn't want to think about it. It was much easier to live in the now, and not think about the not-so-distant future. _

And now he _is_ out of time. He's reached his destination, and he can practically feel the emptiness seeping through him, as it always does when he arrives to visit his beloved. He makes his way through the stone gate as it protests under his hands. His heart is heavy as he walks the paths like open air hallways. He can see him now, in his usual spot, overlooking the meadow to the left.

He stops short. His love is usually alone when he comes to meet him, but today he's got a second visitor. The visitor senses his presence, and turns her head in his direction. She smiles a wan smile that is a ghost of her former beauty. He's surprised she has faith to smile these days. She's all alone, the others having left her to fend for herself. But, then again, that was always her best quality. She is very good at it. The fact that she is here at all is a testament to that fact.

He is concerned, however, about the cold and how it will affect her. He makes his way to her side, looking down into her smiling face.

"You shouldn't be here," Magnus says with a tsk in his voice. He walks up and puts his arm around her, trying to shield her from the harsh breeze that has kicked up.

"I'm quite capable of defending myself against a little nip in the air," Isabelle retorts. At eighty-seven, she's lost none of her sass. He supposes she's got a lot of it stored up, considering she hasn't had Jace around to spit it at for a number of years. Magnus only sees her when he gets the rare chance to visit the Institute. Jace and Clary's daughter and her husband run it now, since Clary passed away and Isabelle became too weak to get around much anymore.

"Yes, but you shouldn't push it. Who are those kids going to terrorize when their grandmother catches pneumonia and can't play with them?" he teases.

"Micah and Stephanie lost their grandmother a while ago, Magnus. Clary's been dead eight years now," she says with a hint of sadness.

"You know you're the real grandmother. You're the one who's been there for them," he says with an affectionate squeeze. It's true, Isabelle has been more of what the normal grandparent should be.

It's not Clary's fault, though, by any means. Her daughter, Celine, never got to know her father, as Jace was killed by a Greater Demon when she was three months old. She only really knows that she was named after his mother, and that Clary had never seen light like the kind that lit up his face when he held his baby girl, for the short time he was able to. Upon his death, Clary kind of closed off. She raised her daughter with an able hand, but she was never the same. As she got on in years, she started to give up until one day, she gave in.

Isabelle has been pretty vivacious her whole life, in contrast. She and Simon gave it a try when they were in their 20s, but ended up divorcing. Simon had the same problem Magnus did. Now he was off somewhere in Russia, still in love with Isabelle but willing himself to let her live her life the way she wants. She enjoys spoiling Stephanie and Micah, Celine's children, and she whiles away her days telling them stories of the days of Valentine and the battle for the Mortal Instruments, while they ooh and aah at the appropriate places.

Magnus gazes at her, wishing he could change his feelings. He hates to leave her, her last lifetime friend in the entire world. But he has to be with his beloved. She seems to sense this.

"You shouldn't do this, you know. I know he asked you not to." She struck a nerve with that statement. Her brother must have told her about that particular conversation. Magnus had vowed, at his husband's request, not to follow him. He had said that when his beloved left, he wouldn't take matters into his own hands.

"He did. And I said I wouldn't. But Isabelle, I can't live like this." There is so much desperation and hurt in his voice that it shocks even him. "I have to see him again."

"I know you want to, but is it really the answer?"

"I don't have any answers anymore. I'm out of will to even ask the questions," he says with a sigh.

"You know he's up there somewhere. And he wants you to know that he loves you and he wants you to be happy," she says. Magnus is taken aback by his own words about Max being thrown back at him. He knows they are true to the core, but he doesn't know how much longer he can hold out without actually seeing that pure, glassy blue in person again.

"I know," he says in a shaky voice. He feels her arms go around him in a very motherly gesture as silent sobs rack his tall frame. Even in her tiny, shrunken state, she is able to comfort him somewhat. Sometimes he thinks it's because she's his sister, and he feels closer to him just by being close to her.

"Hold on for one more day, and then see if you can't do it again the next day, and the next. It will get easier," she sooths, like she's talking to a child. To anyone who might happen to pass by the small city of stone, that's what it would look like: a grandmother and her 19 year old grandson. He supposes it would be more believable if she'd retained some of her sleek black hair. But that was long gone, given way to pure white locks that are halfway past her shoulders.

"I've done that, Izzy. I've done that for thirty-nine years now." It's true, he'd died at the same exact age his father was when he passed away. While his father had died slowly and quietly of heart failure, he'd been taken by an angry group of werewolves. At 50, he shouldn't have been in battle anyway, but he was trying to train Celine better than Clary could. He just was not at the top of his game anymore, and it had cost him his life.

"I miss him, damnit. I miss him every single day and there's nothing I can do to make it go away," he sobs, his face in his hands. All seems hopeless, and all he wants to do is take out the blade and make it quick, so they can be together again.

"But you promised him forever," she says. He did. And he needed to stand by it, because he knew it would make him happy.

He stares down at where his beloved rests quietly beneath them. With one more motherly squeeze of encouragement, Isabelle lets him go.

"Do what's in your heart, Magnus." She walks away, back out through the gates and half a block to the Institute. He suddenly feels the crushing weight of loss, as he does every time he's here. He hits his knees next to his husband, the love of his life.

"Why can't you come back?" he cries. His body is shivering with the cold and emptiness. "I need you, baby. I can't do this. I can't hold on any longer. I…I might have to…break my promise. I'm not strong enough to stay away from you."

He runs his fingers over the smooth marble that marks the place. Then he feels a tingle deep in his heart. He startles at the feeling, but it is so pleasant that he lets it fill him up. He lifts his head to the sky, closing his eyes and opening his soul. His entire being is warmed to the core, consumed by the wave of utter love that washes over him. It lasts only a few seconds, but it feels like a lifetime; it's _fueled_ by a lifetime.

As the feeling dissipates, he lowers his head again. Now he's determined.

"Thank you, baby. I needed that," he says softly to the ground. Before he climbs to his feet again, he traces the grooves etched into the flawless marble stone.

_Alexander Lightwood_

_Beloved Son, Brother, and Husband_

_1989-2039_

_Ave Atque Vale_

Magnus Bane rises to his feet and makes his way back down the path to the gates. He turns back toward their meeting place and swears he catches a flash of blue.

"I'll see you tomorrow," he says, as a light dusting of January snow begins to fall.

**Okay, so I want you to tell me a few things in your review, if you don't mind:**

**1) What do you think he decided? I tried to intentionally leave it open for thought, because I like it when a reader can draw their own conclusions. **

**2) Did you notice any literary points of interest? Like, did you notice any specific things left out, or only alluded to, or not mentioned til the end? (I'm checking to see if my challenges came across as obvious or obscure)**

**3) Were you a blubbering mess by the end? Or totally bored out of your mind? Or somewhere in between? I just wanna know.**

**Love you guys. Please review!**


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